Marriage
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: Series 1 AU. Isobel and Dr. Clarkson broach an uncomfortable subject.
1. Chapter 1

**I don't know what the heck this is. It could be just a drabble-ish oneshot, or I could write some more when time allows. Anyway, I hope you like it. **

"Don't you agree with marriage, then?"

He could not deny that the question took him by surprise. For one thing it had come out of nowhere. They were sitting there in his office, drinking their tea together quite calmly and in near silence. The time had come when they could not face doing any more paperwork and she had put the kettle on so that they could have a break. It was late afternoon and the sun had been beaming in at them through the wide glass windows for hours now, and both of them were just past the point of being comfortably warm.

They had been drinking silently- both of them quite worn out-, and then she had asked this question; her voice light and conversational, only marginally acknowledging in her tone the gravity that such a question could have commanded.

He looked at her in surprise, and saw her head inclined a little to the side, and that a light smile was lingering on her lips, curious, and definitely knowing that she was being a little daring to ask such a question. The brief look they exchanged immediately softened any hesitation he had been having about answering her, but still he wanted to know why.

"Why do you ask?" he enquired politely.

She shrugged her shoulders gently.

"I'm not sure," she replied, "I was just wondering why you never did get married. Obviously it wasn't for lack of means," she remarked levelly, "I expect any doctor's salary would be enough to at least support a wife, and that's before any money of her own that she might have. And it isn't as if you wouldn't have been able to find a woman who would have you. So why didn't you?"

He bowed his head for a moment, examining the back of his own hand.

"You flatter me, Mrs Crawley," he told her, a touch of wryness and of self-consciousness in his voice.

"No I don't," she replied simply, "I think you'll find I'm merely speaking accurately," she smiled briefly, looking a little shy herself for a moment but then she looked straight back up at him, "Or call it honestly if you will. So why didn't you?"

It was hard not to be disconcerted, or overexcited, by the possible implications of what she'd just said, but he had to ignore it nevertheless. If there was one thing he'd learned about Isobel Crawley it was that when she wanted something, presumably including an answer, she would get it. He let out a long breath.

"I suppose you would say it was because things never turned out that way," he told her, knowing he was being vague, "When I would have married the right woman was never there. I've nothing against marriage, it's just I would never have got married merely for the sake of it."

"And you could never see yourself getting married in the future?" she asked him.

He smiled broadly.

"Mrs Crawley, I'm not quite sure how to take your excessive curiosity on the subject."

She at least had the good grace to look a little abashed.

"I was just curious," she told him, "It seemed so unlikely that you would never have been married somewhere along the line. I hope you don't mind my asking?"

"No," he replied, "I don't particularly mind. In a way it's nice to be asked; it's certainly very kind of you to take an interest in me."

"Why shouldn't I?" she asked him, "We work together, we're friends."

"Yes," he agreed, pleased to hear that she thought so, "Yes, we are."

"It's only natural that I should take an interest really," she continued, "Our whole working lives have been set around being interested in people, and wanting to help them."

"Yes," he murmured in response, "Only its frustrating when practice rules that the best way to help someone is to fill in forms about them," he indicated grumpily to the pile of papers on his desk before him.

"Well, you know I find it as frustrating as you do," she replied, "Would you like another cup of tea?"

"If there's any in the pot I wouldn't say no," he answered.

She filled another cup for him and passed it back to him. Taking it, he murmured his thanks.

"So do you?" she asked after a moment.

"Do I what?"

"See yourself getting married?" she pressed.

He had forgotten that he had neglected to answer her second question. There was a pause for a moment.

"I wouldn't have said that thought occurred to me too frequently," he remarked.

"No?" she asked.

"Not of marriage," he answered, "Not specifically."

Their eyes met for a moment, and held. Unless he was very much mistaken he saw her cheeks grow a little red, as if warm, and he felt his own face grow hot.

It was a wrench to break their gaze when she looked away.

"Do you think we should be getting on?" she asked him, turning back towards her desk.

"Probably," he agreed, shaking himself from his thoughts. It was difficult also to tear his mind away from the glimmer in her eyes as they had gazed into his.

**Please review if you have the time. **


	2. Chapter 2

**I don't know what this is, at all. **

**Happy birthday Batwings! **

I want to kiss you, she thought, looking over at him across both of their desks messy with paperwork. His head was bowed, and the light from the window behind him caught the top of his head, cast a sharp halo of light around his fair hair. That is all I want to do, she realised. I want to kiss him. Now. Of course, she had known as much before in a way, for no other reason had see asked him that question in the first place. But before it had not been as intense as this, this dizzying compulsion she suddenly felt. She could hardly account for it. That first question had obviously led to this inexplicably strong feeling she had now.

He was looking up, looking back at her, but not for a few long moments did she realise that she was actually staring at him, and he was looking rather curiously back at her, his brow creased in a frown.

"Isobel?" he asked her gently, looking up from his work, "Are you alright?"

She blinked rather foolishly.

"Yes," she replied, trying to sound level and calm, "Yes, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" he pressed, "You aren't tired are you? Perhaps we've done too much. Perhaps we should stop for today."

"No," she told him sharply, because of one thing she was certain, she did not want to stop. She did not want to have to leave him now, "No," she insisted, "I'm alright."

"Well," he began uneasily, "If you're sure..."

"Yes," she affirmed, "Of course."

They were silent for a moment, bent over their respective papers. She was not concentrating; she did not look at the paper, she could not take any of it in, she merely looked away from him. Not wanting him to realise, she held her breath, not making a sound.

Her eyes were so squarely fixed on the paper that she did notice he was looking at her.

"Isobel, you aren't breathing."

"I want to kiss you."

This time neither of them dared to breath. There was deathly silence.

He looked at her, frowning more deeply, tilting his head a little to one side, obviously unable to believe what he had just heard.

"Sorry?" he half stuttered out.

She was mortified. But at the same time she could not go back on it now; it would be both against her nature and utterly unconvincing. She swallowed hard.

"Just then," she began unsteadily, "For a moment. I thought it would-... I wanted-... Kiss you," she finished weakly.

There was another very long pause.

"Sorry," she told him, "I didn't really think."

"Don't be sorry," he told her, quickly, quietly, and her heart leapt with hope. But he was still looking deeply puzzled. "There's no need to be sorry," he repeated after a moment.

But still, though, he would not meet her eyes. She bit her lip a little.

"I think you can probably ask the questions now," she told him.

He looked at her then, and she was heartened to see him give her a fraction of a smile.

"That's the kind of statement I wouldn't usually be inclined to question," he admitted, and she could not help but give a little, very nervous laugh.

"Really?" she raised an eyebrow rather incredulously.

"Really," he assured her, "Especially when it's you saying it." They exchanged what felt like a highly significant look. "But, Isobel, why?" He smiled at her. "Sorry, I know that sounds like a ridiculous contradiction. But I can hardly believe it."

"What?" she asked, stupidly. Her brain had stopped working.

"That you said that to me," he clarified.

"Oh," she replied. There was a pause. "I don't know. It was what I felt. I meant it," she clarified.

Neither of them moved, just looked at one another. The warmth in the room was intense.

"Is that why you asked me... what you did?"

She nodded, almost imperceptibly.

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